Anna just wants to earn enough money on the side to buy into the bakery, Callie’s Cakes, where she works together with her best nerd pal Callie. The last thing she expects to see when she walks into Arthur’s apartment to do some moonlighting is a blood bath. Callie’s ready to jump into the investigation into Arthur’s murder, and she’s bringing another bakery worker, Kristie, into their hijinks whether Kristie wants to or not. But things aren’t as they seem. There are gang affiliations, illegal gambling dens, and ladies of the night to wade through. Will Anna and Callie discover who murdered Arthur or will Callie’s detective boyfriend Ben and Anna’s self-appointed protector put a stop to such aspirations?

Come join us at Callie’s Cakes, where murder investigations are on the menu, but make sure to bring your own baker because Anna’s a bit preoccupied at the moment.

Warning: This is NOT your mom’s cozy mystery. Bring Your Own Baker may be a ‘clean’ read, but if gangs, illegal gambling, and pimps make you turn your nose up at your e-reader, you might want to skip this one. Although you’ll be missing some sizzling chemistry between Anna and her protector. Not to mention a whole bunch of witty dialogue.

“Apparently, I’m smart and could take over Arthur’s ‘position’. Oh, and I’m beautiful.” I snort again because really? The bookie must be in dire need of someone to play poker for him if he’s calling me beautiful.
“You are beautiful,” Logan whispers. Before I can snort again, he places a hand over my nose and mouth. “Baby, how can you not know you’re beautiful?”
My eyes widen at his question. “You’re serious?” At his nod, I continue. “Because I’m a pink-haired pixie. No one thinks a pixie’s beautiful.”
Logan’s grin is wicked. “I always thought Tinker Bell was hot.”
I huff. “Tinker Bell’s a fairy, not a pixie.”
“Pixie, fairy, whatever.” He shrugs. “Hot,” he mumbles as his lips find mine. He wastes no time in sticking his tongue down my throat but then abruptly stops. He licks his lips. “Have you been drinking?”
“Vodka.” I nod.
“Vodka doesn’t taste like coconut.”
“It does if it comes out of my freezer,” I tell him with no uncertainty.
He rolls his eyes at me. “You’re a nut.”
“Technically coconut is a fruit, not a nut,” I clarify.

I grew up reading everything I could get my hands on from my mom’s Harlequin romances to Nancy Drew to Little Woman. When I wasn’t flipping pages in a library book, I was penning horrendous poems, writing songs no one should ever sing, or drafting stories which have thankfully been destroyed. College and a stint in the U.S. Army came along, robbing me of free time to write and read, although I did manage to sneak a book into my rucksack between rolled up socks, MRIs, t-shirts, and cold weather gear every once in a while. A few years into my legal career, I was exhausted, fed up, and just plain done. I quit my job and sat down to write a manuscript, which I promptly hid in the attic after returning to the law. Another job change, this time from lawyer to B&B owner and I was again fed up and ready to scream I quit, which is incredibly difficult when you own the business. Thus, I shut the B&B during the week and in the off-season and started writing. Several books later I find myself in Istanbul writing full-time.

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